


A New Home (Tired Eyes)

by LikeWaterisWet



Series: Abandoned World [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Blood, Blood God, Death, Gen, Immortality, Not of any characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeWaterisWet/pseuds/LikeWaterisWet
Summary: The old gods grow bored easily, and a lot can change in an unguided world.Techno forgets his place.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Abandoned World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005438
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	A New Home (Tired Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I've had any motivation to write at all so I'm sorry if this is rusty. I have a lot of ideas but between uni work and the general state of the world I have no idea when/if this will be continued but I couldn't not do a magical medieval AU when I had ideas.
> 
> Chapter titles are lyrics from the songs off of "The Horror and the Wild" by the Amazing Devils and I highly suggest listening to their music as it is a very good folk vibe. This chapter is from "Farewell Wanderlust"

The magic of this world was old, woven into the ground from the first moments of its creation beneath the watchful gaze of the old gods. For the first millennia of its existence they watched carefully over every part of the world, sculpting every piece of reality to fit their ideals. No life went untouched by their guidance when the world was new. As time passed their focus was drawn to new worlds, new projects of creation more interesting than the tired story they had spent so long molding. By the second millennia of its existence the world that had once been the pride and sole focus of the old gods was naught but abandoned by their gazes.

The magic of the lands grew and morphed without the strict bounds of the old gods to confine it. Slowly the magic rose from the world where it was originally created, infusing into the animals of the world beyond the small spark needed for sentient life. The last project of the old gods had been the creation of humanity. The first mutation of magic led to two new gods, unknowing of the abandonment of their world, and unprepared for what the fates had in store for them.

This is the story of the already time weary new god. Years pass him by in the blink of hollow eyes, unseeing and uncaring for the world he had once fought so fiercely for. When he was younger, and naïve to the cruelty of a never ending life, he had walked through stone castles, leaving a trail of red in his wake. Bodies fell beneath his feet, eyes glassy in death. A mask of sun bleached bone covered the manic glint that shined in his eyes to all but those who were falling beneath his blade, tusks reaching towards the sky in a mockery of a smile’s gentle lines.

(Before the mask and the madness, the blade was gripped between unsteady palms, a prayer to the gods that the land could be free once again. The first kill is always the hardest they say, but to the young peasant boy ravaged by famine and the cruelty of a tyrant; Techno found that it was the only body that did not haunt his steps.)

In the rivers of red left in his shadow disciples of his power rose to kneel prostrated at his feet. They stained their hands red in reverence and left new bodies in his path as a sign of their allegiance. They called him the blood god. Whispers trailed ahead of him, warning of the masked being who brought with him the smell of metal and decay. Those who held power hid at the first hints of his presence, fearful that the black eyes of the skull he wore would turn on them next.

 _He bathes in blood_. They whispered behind closed doors. _He cares naught for your crime, only if you fall within his sights._

He wandered the world for a century, taking on the mantle of death’s scythe. His once golden hair stained a rusted pink color by the blood that never fully washed away. Arrogant children threw themselves down on his sword, all wanting to claim the fame of killing the blood god. His disciples built shrines in his name where the floors were painted red in his honor. They fashioned him a crown of broken bones that he wore proudly alongside his hog skull mask. Kingdoms fell beneath his sword, empires crumbling to dust in his presence.

(Who is he? In the moments after, when all the bodies have fallen still and the blood has cooled, he finds he doesn’t remember his name. The blood god never lingers anywhere anymore, always searching for the next escape.)

In a large and bustling kingdom the blood god walked slowly up the marble stairs leading to the king’s throne. It was still and silent. As if the whole town was holding its breath, waiting to see if he would bring them salvation. Beneath the curved tusks of his skull mask the blood god felt his lips twist up into a mockery of a smile. Adrenaline surged through his veins, drowning out all of his thoughts in the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. A haze settled over his mind as his eyes scanned the hall that stretched before him. Sitting calmly on his throne at the end of the long room the king of the land met the blood god’s eyes. The blood god halted for a second, taken aback by the blank white pupils that stared him down, the confusion enough to jolt the bloodlust from his mind. He hesitated at the entrance to the throne room, not entirely sure why he hadn’t already ended the king’s life.

“They call you a traitor.”

“And you, a monster.”

“You expect me to say that they are wrong, but that is how I know they are truthful.”

“I never claimed them to be wrong. They have drawn their conclusions with the knowledge they are provided, and very often they are right. After all a puzzle can be identified without all its pieces put in the right places.”

The blood god frowned. This was not the way this was supposed to go. His sword was not to be halted by the desperate pleas of a cruel king. Yet, was this pleading? There was no desperation in his voice, and he had yet to ask for mercy. Confusion and frustration transformed into anger as he tightened his grip on his sword and started stalking across the hall to stand directly in front of the young king. Raising the tip of his sword to rest against the underside of the king’s chin he frowned as the pale white eyes stared unflinching up at him.

“I will kill you.”

“Yes.”

The tip of his blade lowered minutely. Nothing about this interaction was going how it was supposed to. All royals were the same, running screaming from the relentless swing of his sword. They weren’t supposed to sit calmly in front of him as he threatened them.

“You will be dead.”

“Yes.”

“I will kill you.”

“You’ve said that already, yes.”

In a surge of frustration the blood god pushed the tip of his sword further into the soft neck of the king. A thin trickle of dark red blood spilled down from where his sharpened sword had split the king’s skin. He watched the thin life blood trail down until it hit the edge of the king’s robe, soaking into the white fabric and staining it red. The blood god stood, waiting for the familiar haze to take over his mind once again, wanting to lose this new clarity that made so little sense. He waited in that moment, suspended and still for a century, staring unblinkingly down at the young face of this strange king. Everything felt shifted and off center, like he was looking into the reflection of a puddle being disturbed by a heavy storm. The clatter of metal against stone shook the blood god out of his thoughts. He blinked as the world shifted around him, his sluggish mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. The cold of the stone dais seeped through his trousers as he kneeled at the edge of the king’s throne, his sword fallen to the floor several paces away. The king still looked on, not having moved since the blood god had first swung the doors to his throne room open what seemed like eons ago.

“Why?”

“That’s the wrong question.”

The moment dragged on in silence as the blood god remained immobile on his knees trying to think of what the young king could possibly mean.

“What is the right question?”

Blank white eyes softened minutely in empathy. The king leans forward in his throne slightly to see the blood god’s eyes through the skull hanging in front of his face.

“Who are you?”

“The blood god?”

(Wrong. That was wrong. Who was he? What was he? A flash of a different king, old and almost forgotten to the annals of time flickered in his thoughts. Of prying a dull sword from stiff fingers with a shaking hand. Of hollowed cheeks and crumpled bodies.)

“No. Who are you? Not who are you to them.”

The silence that fell over the room as stiflingly loud. Fear gripped at his heart as he tried frantically to find any answer for the king.

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

The king leaned back in his throne as the silence continued on. The kneeling god felt his thoughts race, moving too fast for him to understand anything that his mind came up with. A suffocating helplessness consumed him as he sank further into himself.

“Who am I?”

A soft rustle of fabric filled the air as the king lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“Who do you want to be?”

“I don’t know.”

A frantic panic started to rise in the god’s chest. He needed to get out of here. He had to get away from the piercing whiteness of the king’s blank eyes. Recognizing the tensing shoulders of the god the king sighed. He closed his eyes wearily, letting his head fall forward slightly. As soon as the god saw that the king was no longer watching him he bolted up from the ground grabbing his sword and heading for the open doors. His pace slowed the further from the doors he got, the oppressive panic that had consumed his thoughts starting to abate. Feeling his thoughts clear by the time he reached the tall doors he paused for a moment before turning back and calling down the hall.

“And who are you?”

The king flinched slightly at the question, clearly having expected the god to have fled his land completely once he got the chance. In the encroaching darkness of night the dimly glowing white eyes of the king stared at the shadowy figure of the young god. He hesitated for only a moment, before answering with a somber smile.

“A protector.”

**Author's Note:**

> Eret wasn't supposed to show up in this but apparently I've been watching too much of their content because somehow here they are, if people are interested I might do a super short one-shot in this world explaining their backstory because I have a lot of ideas. Tags and summary will be updated as I add more chapters.


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